


Murder Most Fraldarius

by alivedovedoeat



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, a little Felix/Sylvain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivedovedoeat/pseuds/alivedovedoeat
Summary: In this context, it made perfect sense to hurl a cast-iron pot at the back of Felix’s head. Then the troubles began.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	Murder Most Fraldarius

**Author's Note:**

> From the [kink meme](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=1472476):
> 
> _Flayn throws a bunch of stuff at Felix (y'know, the usual), but manages to actually hit him... pretty hard. Felix passes out and Flayn freaks out thinking she's killed him. So now she has to hide the body and get rid of the evidence. Because that's what murderers do, right?_

Felix had chopped through the first volley of firewood effortlessly, and it was a mistake to assume he’d be interested in repeating such a simple exercise. His only passion, as far as Flayn could tell, was for developing his own abilities. If she could show him that cutting inanimate objects presented a worthy challenge of its own, she was certain she could steer him from his commitment to wielding a blade against others. It was simply a matter of making the right selection.

None of that would matter, however, if Felix were not willing to give her a chance. All the other students spoke of just how stubborn he was, and despite the strength of her argument he was still likely to refuse. Only once he had tried it, had the challenge impressed upon him directly, could she be sure he would understand. Underhanded as it was, she would have to take him by surprise.

In this context, it made perfect sense to hurl a cast-iron pot at the back of Felix’s head. Then the troubles began.

The hollow thump that it made upon impact was followed by a crash as it fell, and another as Felix collapsed, backwards, striking his head on it a second time as he hit the ground.

What terrible fortune! Was the Goddess herself conspiring to teach her of the ubiquity, the inevitability of violence? She ran to Felix’s side, kneeled down and gave each of his cheeks a firm slap. Resolving to concede to him that there was some merit to self-defense, she waited for him to stir. He did not.

Flayn struck him once more, but there was still no sign of consciousness. She began to fear the worst. Was such an impact enough? Was he really so frail? She had to check.

“Felix!” she cried, directly into his ear. “Felix, are you dead?” There was no reply. Flayn could retain her composure no longer, and her tears began to flow as she slumped against his chest, which rose and fell at an even rhythm in what were surely the involuntary spasms of a corpse.

It was not her fault, but who would believe her? With the best of intentions, she had brought the murder weapon to bear against him. Perhaps, in light of the implement, she would now be forbidden the kitchens. Even that, as she thought again of the word  _ murder _ , seemed too lenient to be likely. She could be removed from Professor Byleth’s classes. Her father could be terribly strict in times like these; he might go so far as to send her to military school.

She had to hide the body. Such subterfuge would be disrespectful to Felix’s memory, but she simply had no choice. She knew that he would understand. Even the grunt he made as she lifted him, produced by the air escaping his rapidly-shriveling lungs, sounded affirmative.

Her first thought was to bury the body, but doing so would leave too much evidence connecting her to the event. She would need to borrow the key to the garden shed from Dedue, to get a shovel. He would be certain to report such a request, out of obligation to his fallen classmate, if the signs of her digging were ever found by some brilliant detective. Even if she were to break into the shed herself, such detectives were always identifying people by the bootprints they left in the woods or a mud stain on their clothing.

She considered burning the body, but this too seemed impractical. She had noticed that Felix rarely drank water, but she was still not certain the body would turn to ash before someone came to investigate.

Perhaps Flayn was overthinking things. There was a supply closet nearby, and she was certain that during the Heron Ball she had overheard one student assuring another that no one ever looked in there. Surely the smell of decomposition would eventually attract curiosity, but by that time there would be nothing to link her to the act.

This plan ought to have gone perfectly, but as Flayn was setting the body against a shelf of disused cleaning supplies, the door opened.

“I’m telling you,” said Sylvain, leading a girl Flayn recognized from the custodial staff by the hand, “no one ever looks in here.”

“Sylvain,” said the girl, pointing at the scene, and he turned to see Flayn, straddling the body as she propped it up. He was silent for a moment.

“Well,” he said, his voice breaking for a moment, “don’t let me interrupt.”

He turned to leave, and she was satisfied he had mistaken her activities for something innocent. But the pause and the break in his voice were very out of character, she realized, for someone so composed. Perhaps Sylvain was more perceptive than he appeared! He must have suspected what had happened, and suppressed the signs of his grief so as to leave her none the wiser as he informed the authorities.

“Please wait!” she called out. “This isn’t what you think! Felix was simply feeling terribly ill, and asked me to let him rest momentarily, here in the closet.”

“Right,” he said. “Flayn, don’t worry about it. Believe me, I’m the last person who’s going to tell Seteth about this kind of thing.”

He left, and Flayn exhaled. She was truly lucky that Sylvain was so kind, even in light of his dear friend’s passing. Her father had often said he flaunted the virtues of the Goddess, but she was certain now that his mercy was unparalleled.

She stood, preparing to leave, when she heard a groan. It was not at all like the one Felix had made earlier, one to be expected of a corpse, but was almost articulate, almost human. Flayn turned, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming as Felix’s body began to rise under its own power. She darted out, locking the door behind her.

She had to think quickly; Felix’s animate corpse was pounding on the door behind her. Such a phenomenon was entirely outside of her experience, but she had read before about the souls of those unprepared for death, bound by some powerful feeling, lingering in their own rotting bodies. When their earthly form finally turned to dust, they were bound to wander, unheard and unseen, for eternity. Such a terrible fate could not be allowed to befall Felix!

Flayn dearly wished she could explain this episode to her father, because it was from the very same novels he described as useless that she had learned the method by which Felix’s soul could be freed: true love’s kiss. Of course, she would have to determine who Felix’s true love was. Reserved as he was, it was not a matter she had known him to talk about; it was something she would have to deduce. In the stories, it was always one of the heroine’s oldest friends, someone who was content to stand at her side, never letting his feelings be known. His love was never expressed in ardor, but in loyalty.

“No one ever looks in here, either,” said Sylvain, leading his companion into the closet down the hall, when he heard his name shouted and saw Flayn running towards him.

“Sylvain,” she said, “it’s an emergency! You have to come with me.”

“Sorry,” he called to the girl as he was taken by the wrist. “Another time, definitely.”

“I know you must still be in shock about Felix’s passing,” Flayn began, “and that you may even resent me for my part in it.”

“Wh—”

“Please, allow me to finish. The situation is more dire than you know. Felix’s soul still resides in his body, though parted they are, because he has never known the kiss of his true love.”

They stopped before the closet. Felix’s spirit, tormented by its unholy presence in the mortal world, called “Let me out, damn it!”

“Sylvain, I am truly sorry to ask this of you,” she said, clasping his hand. “You are the only one who can set him free.”

Sylvain clutched at his stomach and began to laugh. Flayn knew this to be a common hysterical response to stress. When it was over, he collected himself, puffing out his chest as if to assure her of his bravery in the face of horror.

“I’ll do it,” he said, opening the door.

“Sylvain,” mouthed the corpse. “What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m truly sorry,” he said, entering, “that I was never able to answer your feelings while you lived. I truly regret that I couldn’t fulfill your fondest wish.”

“One more step and I’ll end you,” it croaked in response, backing away and reaching for its blade. Undaunted, Sylvain moved in and pinned it against the wall.

“As it is, beloved, all I can give to you is this.”

He turned to Flayn, a grin on his face. “Do I have to use tongue for it to work?”

“I confess that I do not know.”

He turned back to the body. “Better safe than sorry.”


End file.
